


Quiet Vanity

by LadyLossom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, M/M, Post-Mary's Death, Post-Season/Series 03, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4977364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLossom/pseuds/LadyLossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are working for Mycroft, reluctantly. John is still recovering from the painful lose of the previous year and the ache is not going away and Sherlock doesn't know how to fix his mess. </p>
<p>This is my first Sherlock Fic. Please be gentle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Vanity

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the first Chapter to see how the story is responded to. I am trying to write from both men's perspectives and I don't think I am quite achieving it. Advice is majorly welcome.

John's POV

‘You are the epitome of quiet vanity.’ John murmurs over his newspaper one Sunday afternoon. His eyes aren’t moving along the white-black-white pages as they settle on Sherlock who is fussing over his collar in the mirror above the fireplace. He isn’t why he hasn’t said this to Sherlock before. The man fussed over himself somewhat like Irene Adler had. His woman. That was above all the quietest deception they had between one another. Sherlock knew that John had lied to him, and John knew that Sherlock knew this. But he had a feeling that Sherlock was still the winner in this checkers game of feeling and John wasn’t sure how he felt about that. His had meant to imbibe feelings of sympathy not competition. He remembered the argument they had had about Chess and Checkers.   
‘But Sherlock its Chess. How can you not play Chess? I thought it was some sort of standard entrance that one has to like when becoming a genius. Aren’t you born with an inherent understanding of the game?’ John huffed as Sherlock smashed his way through the decorative Chess board that was poised in Mycroft’s office.   
‘Chess has a limited set of permutations. Once a single move is made you cut down the remaining move options by half at least. Checkers the options are unlimited.’ Sherlock sneered dangling the black queen over the board before dropping it with a thick clunk. That had been four days ago. Sherlock was still technically working on the case, but he was frustrated and parading around the flat in a cold fury at this stalemate.   
‘I am not vain.’ Sherlock hissed at John as his hands stilled on his top button.   
‘Yes, you really are. You strut and fuss and design yourself every day and occasionally more than once a day if you find a mirror.’ John hums in response finding his mouth curling at the edges in response to Sherlock’ sharpness.   
‘It has a purpose.’ Sherlock replies draping himself into the opposite armchair.   
‘Sometimes.’ John mutters folding his newspaper. The Afghanistan troops had lost another 3 soldiers. He only recognised one of the names. Major Ernest Simmons had been in one of the many companies that John had encountered. It hadn’t been a pleasant meeting, Simms was a brash, muscular block of Army diligence and rules. His inflexibility had probably been the reason for his demise. John’s spontaneity had been the reason for his survival.   
‘Always.’ Sherlock huffs irritably.   
‘Then why were you preening now?’ John retorts his eyebrows raised playfully.   
Sherlock doesn’t answer, he feigns disinterest but the colour brightens on his cheeks, it’ just a dusting of colour but enough to touch John’s stomach with a pleasant tightening. It had been happening more and more frequently since Mary. 

Sherlock's POV

The case was so mundane it hurt Sherlock to agree to it. But his brother had pulled the card. It was childish and petty from both of their perspectives. Sherlock had been interested in the intrigue initially he only resisted as long as was absolutely necessary.   
‘Sherlock it will barely take more than a few hours from you. It is only legwork really.’ Mycroft had sighed. As long as he still proclaimed to be long-suffering Sherlock found some pleasures in this taunting.   
‘I am not your slut. If you need someone to run around for you and indulge adulterous Ambassadors, I am sure you could find a more than willing SAS man to take my place.’ Sherlock spat in return. John was standing in the corner of the brooding office. His hands clasped behind his back. This was his war stance, his urban war stance. And it made Sherlock’s neck prickle with pleasure. John made Sherlock feel a simmer of physical power. Sherlock could him himself perfectly well but having John behind him allowed him to focus entirely on what was to come.   
‘Sherlock. Don’t make me mention-‘   
‘Mycroft. That is enough. Sherlock we have work to do.’ John broke in, his voice sliding into the conversation like blood-slicked steel.   
John had left before Sherlock had been able to stop Mycroft, Sherlock could feel a nasty smear of a line polluting his face.   
‘That was uncalled for.’   
‘You need to learn that it is not only me you are pushing against. You resistance has proven fatal once. Let us not repeat this experience.’   
‘Twice.’ Sherlock replied quietly before swishing out of the office in a soft hush.


End file.
